


Broken Wings, Cannot Fly

by EmeraldEyes8917



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Electrocution, F/M, Gen, Implied Torture, Kidnapping, The Final Problem, Torture, Violence, sherrinford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldEyes8917/pseuds/EmeraldEyes8917
Summary: An alternate additional scene of 'His Last Vow' in the canon of a Twitter RP universe, where Anthea became entangled in the schemes of Moriarty and Eurus as a pawn to torture Mycroft and Sherlock in a cruel, unwinnable test.Trigger warning for violence, hints of torture and blood.
Relationships: Anthea/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Mycroft Holmes
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Broken Wings, Cannot Fly

Walking into yet another sealed room with deep slate grey walls in the bowels of the Sherrinford maximum security facility, Sherlock, John and Mycroft were already exhausted, physically and mentally, each wondering in their own way where this would end, how it would end, and whether they could actually make it out alive with the guilt weighing on their consciences.  
  
The three men who had plunged to their respective dooms outside of the window only minutes before had severely rattled Mycroft, while John's military training had kicked him into survival mode after losing his cool. Sherlock's state of mind was harder to determine as he focused on remaining sharp, coping with the next raft of devious plotting from the person he had come to know as his estranged sister, wanting to predict her next move but finding his mental faculties clouded.  
  
As Mycroft leans against the far wall to catch his breath, the screen comes to life again and Eurus is framed in the screen, her cold eyes impassive, as she addresses the three men, "Time can never be given back once it's taken. Same with an opportunity missed. A broken promise. Broken trust. Sound familiar?"  
  
John grits his teeth and strides towards the screen with a fist raised but is effectively halted by Sherlock's outstretched arm, "Don't play into her hands. Soldier, remember?"  
  
John retreats, clenching his fists, giving second glances to Eurus and Mycroft, forced to settle as being an observer.  
  
Using the same tone from before, "This next test is about loyalty, about fondness and the warmth of a human heart. It's a session that will show just how far you're willing to go to save someone and if you're capable of being completely unselfish."  
  
The screen switches to black, before it flickers back into life, the camera recording another room with a single spotlight backlighting an office swivel chair, where there sits a woman in a pinstripe skirt and blazer with black high heels, tied at the wrists and ankles with rope, a black cloth bag over her head with some strands of dark hair hanging over her shoulders.  
  
The woman is struggling quite frantically, and over the speakers comes the muffled sobs and occasional screams of terror and pleading.  
  
Sherlock's eyes widen immediately. It couldn't be...  
  
Mycroft bends double, almost heaving with sickness, "You... you little bitch... what have you done to her!?"  
  
Eurus's smooth voice carries through the room, "There, there, brother mine. She's locked in a box just like she's locked in that career, unable to fly, held down by stones of loyalty. She's a funny one. I've been watching her and she's a fascinating specimen. Such a gorgeous woman who is quite bright for an ordinary person. But her weakness is that Holmes charm, and two for the price of one..."  
  
John murmurs her name, "Anthea..."  
  
Eurus's face comes back to the screen, "Give me a reason why she should live. Any wrong answers and she will have a little shock..."  
  
She holds up a tiny remote control with a button, "I'll give you a demonstration..."  
  
She pushes the button without blinking.  
  
Immediately, a loud feminine scream wracked with pain echoes through the room.  
  
John covers his ears as Sherlock rocks back on his feet, his face drained of all colour.  
  
Mycroft dashes forward within view of the screen, pleading, "Stop it, stop it, you've made your point!"  
  
Eurus releases the button after five seconds, and the screen shows the woman with her head slumped forward, chest heaving and fingers curling and uncurling on the arms of the chair.  
  
"Get the picture?"  
  
Sherlock intones, "Yes..."  
  
Eurus sets the remote control down out of view, and sits up straighter, "You have five chances to convince me. Wrong answers give another shock. The right answer lets her walk out of there with some stories to tell her imaginary children someday like a sentimental fool. So think hard, be accurate, and be aware that her heart is in your hands. Now begin..."  
  
The two brothers look at each other, stricken in their own ways, as John holds back, holding a hand to his mouth and fighting back tears. While he and Anthea had only small interactions long ago, he knew her loyalty and her courage in her current job, and the fact that she had been taken to be tortured could only solidify her importance to both Holmes brothers.  
  
"You... you go first," Sherlock mumbles.  
  
"Why?" Mycroft looks aghast.  
  
Keeping his voice to just below a whisper, "She's your employee. You hired her for a reason."  
  
Mycroft hisses back, "It may not be good enough. This is about sentiment and not just a good employment relationship or however many hundred commendations I've given her or how many late nights she's spent at her desk."  
  
Eurus cuts through their conversation like a hot knife, "If you don't hurry up, she's getting a reminder of how electricity works..."  
  
Mycroft steps forward, his jaw set, "She should live because she is a fine example of an aide who would lay down her life for her country and this government would be poorer without her. She is a patriot, a champion and I would be lost only for her."  
  
His words ring out in the small space, carrying no hint of irony, as Eurus's mouth quirks into a tiny smile, "Very, very good, Mycroft. And the survey says..."  
  
With an almost kind smile, a high-pitched scream rings out and Mycroft drops to his knees, the piercing sound sustaining for seven seconds before Eurus relents.  
  
"How about another go? Four chances remain."  
  
Mycroft covers his mouth, heaving even more now, appearing as if he would actually vomit. He staggers away, unable to look at the screen for a second longer.  
  
Despite the growing fear in his chest, Sherlock looks at the screen again as she strains weakly against her bindings, the glint of a bracelet on her right hand shining even in the low lamplight.  
  
In a carrying voice, Sherlock intones, "Here is a reason. She makes everyone feel important, considered and her heart is ten times bigger than anyone else's. She puts others first in her work and personal life. She's kind... she's good. That's... that's all."  
  
Even as he finishes his sentence, he knows it is not enough, but he had to try, even to buy himself more time to think.  
  
Eurus's head tips to one side, "How quaint..."  
  
A pause before the scream echoes again for ten seconds, even louder and horrifying this time, all three men clutching their ears for various reasons, the volume, the raw agony or simply not being able to bear it.  
  
A condescending tutting noise, "Plenty people have big hearts and try in their insignificant unsung hero ways to make the world better. They found charities and look for cures for cancer and run little marathons for money. They're common and boring. Three chances left. Think hard now..."  
  
By now, Anthea has slumped back in the chair, head lolling back, barely moving apart from the rise and fall of her chest.  
  
By now, Sherlock's demeanour is completely agitated, pacing back and forth like a caged lion, muttering 'Think! Think!!'  
  
John ventures forward, "Mycroft, try again. There must be something."  
  
The older man shrugs helplessly, "I don't want to risk more pain. Her heart won't be able to take much more... I can't... I can't, John..."  
  
"Thirty seconds to try again or else she gets another reminder..."  
  
"Don't!"  
  
Sherlock's voice is anguished, "Just... let me think..."  
  
Eurus nods and a few more seconds pass by, before Sherlock attempts once more, appearing more and more fearful as he speaks, "I called her a pencil pusher and a government busybody once. I kept her waiting and I left her alone when the fall happened. She doesn't deserve that or any of this. She's my distraction and she deserves to be free. I need her with me to keep the voice quiet, so I won't get high and laugh at cracks in the ceiling. There's your reason."  
  
With that final word, Eurus's eyes soften.  
  
"Now see how good it is, to tell the truth?"  
  
Eurus lifts the remote again and deftly tosses it over her shoulder, "A near-perfect answer, but since you're under so much mental pressure, I won't expect or require any better."  
  
Mycroft huffs a sigh of relief, "You'll let her go?"  
  
Eurus nods, "The angel will be free..."  
  
She then looks to the right, as the screen changes once more to the room with Anthea bound in the chair, still struggling to free herself. The lights are suddenly turned on, showing the entire surroundings that appear to be a derelict warehouse, and behind the chair is a long chain disappearing above into the ceiling and out of view.  
  
In a split second, the chair is hoisted off the floor as the chain winds upwards, hooked into the ropes that held her in place, the grinding sound not unlike a portcullis being raised.  
  
Anthea screams in utter horror, spinning around as she is pitched forward, the ropes around her wrists and her torso keeping her tethered to the chair as she vanishes upwards, screaming bloody murder.  
  
The three men yell in unison, in equal degrees of shock and fright.  
  
A black shape flutters down, presumably the black bag that has dislodged from around her head, her scream carrying into the rafters of the warehouse, followed by a dull clunk.  
  
Silence except for faint sobs, and a sorrowful cry of 'Help me'.  
  
Jim Moriarty's voice rings out, "Angels fall when they can't fly... and they always fall hard to a permanent destination... down, down, down..."  
  
A snap of fingers by Eurus and the chair reappears, the scraping sound of chains deafening, hurtling to the ground at high velocity, the scream absolutely blood-curdling, the chair smashing, the wheels flying, the back dismantled and the body colliding heavily, her head cracking on the concrete and laying perfectly still, facing the camera, eyes wide open  
  
A pregnant pause as a thin river of blood begins to wind outwards from her scalp.  
  
"No!" John's shout is agonized, "No!!"  
  
Mycroft lets out a pain-filled moan, turning away and having to lean against the wall, banging his forehead against it.  
  
Sherlock's entire body is frozen, eyes fixed on the screen, his lips moving but making no sound, arms lifting and reaching towards the still body on the screen.  
  
Slowly, the camera zooms in on the woman's face, closer and closer, and as the image focuses, Sherlock's deductive mind instinctively kicks into gear as he faces the gruesome sight, sentiment clearing for the briefest of time so he can focus on the clues and reasonably deduce.  
  
At first glance, he sees that the hair is too dark and the wrong wavy texture to be Anthea's, which was longer, smoother, and a more chocolate shade. The suit is finely tailored and similar to Anthea's signature staple outfit for work, but now appears rather wrinkled, which was quite impossible given her impeccable wardrobe and the care she took with her work suits. It also seemed a poor imitation of the suit she wore when first meeting John all that time ago.  
  
The bracelet on her wrist was not the charm bracelet that she wore every day, rather a cheap imitation with some silver charms, rather than the loaded band that she fiddled with when she was nervous or shy.  
  
The eyes were startling in their hue, now marred by tears of blood, but they were slightly too large and not quite the right colour and her eyebrows were pencilled in a dark shade and were artificially shaped. It could have very well been a distant relation, a doppelganger, a dead ringer...  
  
But it wasn't Anthea.  
  
In a second, the deceased woman's body is swiftly dragged across the ground, the chain pulling her back into the shadows, one high heel slipping off carelessly as she disappears out of sight, leaving the pool of blood behind.  
  
Eurus's smile is sympathetic, "Poor angel got her wings clipped, and she flew so high as well. But let's see if she can still sing a song for you..."  
  
There is a crackle over the speakers, and a soft, lilting voice comes through not unlike a lullaby,  
  
_Rest you then, rest, sad eyes,_  
_Melt not in weeping_  
_While she lies sleeping_  
_Softly, now softly lies_  
_Sleeping..._  
  
Unable to keep his composure, Sherlock whips his head around, looking for where the voice was coming from, desperate and wide-eyed.  
  
"'Thea?"  
  
The screen flickers and the outside window of an office building is shown, where a figure passes by and sits at the chair, the fall of dark hair familiar, but even at this vantage point, it wasn't certain if it was her.  
  
Mycroft can hardly believe his eyes, only just realising what Sherlock had deduced just now, "That's her office... she's working still... that wasn't her in that chair... my God..."  
  
John is sitting on his heels in the back of the room, having witnessed all of this, completely shocked at what happened, not taking his eyes off either man, wondering deep down what this meant for them, to see a woman they cared for in different ways almost put in harm's way, that a stranger who resembled Anthea was just put on a hook and made to plummet to her demise.  
  
Mycroft says in a shaking voice, "That could be a pre-recorded video from hours ago. You could still have harmed her, so prove to me that this is a live feed, or else I'm not trusting you on your word, Eurus."  
  
The woman's lips twitch in annoyance, but then relents, "Let's check in with the government busybody you all care for so much, shall we?"  
  
The familiar sound of a ringing phone fills the room, as Eurus calmly explains, "Your phone number is coming up, Sherlock, so act normal and not like you've had a fright, or else something may happen to her when she steps into the street or else she will meet a foe at her next interrogation."  
  
Sherlock breathes deeply, shuddering visibly.  
  
As Anthea picks up her phone, the eponymous BlackBerry, the entire room goes quiet.  
  
"Hello?" Her voice is calm, gentle, a soft exhale of breath.  
  
A long pause where he can only breathe, taking in the sound of her voice.  
  
"Sherlock? Is that you?"  
  
"Yes... I just... I know this isn't a text, I just..."  
  
Her tone immediately becomes concerned, "Are you alright? You sound out of breath."  
  
He takes a few deep inhales, wanting to come across as completely together, before he makes a request, "Could you do me a favour?"  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
"Could you walk to your office window and look out?"  
  
"Why? Have you got a surprise for me? Is this to take me away from my desk or to keep me from checking security?"  
  
While her teasing would have amused him any other day, the burning need to see her has eclipsed all else, "Just humour a consulting detective. Please?"  
  
Sounding bemused, she acquiesces, "Alright..."  
  
There is a creak from a chair and she moves to the window as instructed, and there she is in the flesh, looking out with her BlackBerry held up to her ear, wearing a black dress and her charm bracelet, gazing out at the London skyline.  
  
She was alive.  
  
"Sherlock... ?"  
  
"I'm here."  
  
Her head bobs left and right as if searching for him outside her own window, "Where are you?"  
  
Her hand gives a wave, and behind him, he hears the faintest tearful chuckle from Mycroft.  
  
He explains in as steady a voice as he can muster, "On a case. I can't explain. It's dangerous and that's all you need to know."  
  
She leans her palm against the window, visibly shrugging, "Can't say fairer than that. I just need to know if you're safe."  
  
"When am I ever?"  
  
Her laugh is fond and light, and he wipes his face, sweat, and tears intermingling.  
  
"I won't worry too much, but I will worry about you."  
  
Eurus appears beside the view of Anthea's office in split-screen, pressing a finger to her lips and nodding that he should wrap it up.  
  
"I have to go now..."  
  
She lets out a sigh tinged with disappointment, "Of course. The consulting detective off to see the world. But I'm here if you need me."  
  
Eurus's eyes harden and Sherlock quickly says, "Goodbye, 'Thea."  
  
"Bye, Sherlock. Please stay safe. I love you..."  
  
He cannot bring himself to return the endearment, remaining frozen in the centre of the room.  
  
The call cuts out abruptly and the woman in the office remains at the window, holding her BlackBerry close to her mouth, appearing deep in thought and very much alive.  
  
"Proof of life. There we are, now. I think this session has served its purpose."  
  
"I want to speak to her," Mycroft says in a pleading voice.  
  
A firm shake of the head, "One Holmes is enough for her. Can't think how she manages both of you. How does it feel, knowing she would put her life on the line for you both? That your reasons for her living are her cross to bear?"  
  
Coldly, Sherlock interjects, "Let me speak to the girl on the plane. I passed your test."  
  
Eurus responds calmly, "All in good time. This was merely a warmup. The girl can wait. Time carries on. Now through the next door, there is a lot left to do."  
  
The screen turns to static fuzz, the white noise loud.  
  
With heavy footfalls, Sherlock turns to leave, not looking at either of his companions who follow hastily behind, giving one last glance to the screen where the horror show had just unfolded.  
  
Something was averted just now but they had come to a real loss of life.  
  
Caring was not an advantage in this place.


End file.
